


notre voisin est un connard

by BisexualLightning



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: (again kind of), (kind of), Alternate Universe - Neighbors, First Meetings, M/M, Meet-Cute, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 15:41:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28548051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BisexualLightning/pseuds/BisexualLightning
Summary: Based onwrite-it-motherfucker's promptPerson A: "Are you the person who superglued our neighbor's shoes to their front porch?"Person B: "Yep...How was their reaction?"Person A: "Spectacular."
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 2
Kudos: 71





	notre voisin est un connard

**Author's Note:**

> There is a slur against Middle Eastern people and some maybe triggering mentions of French trophies of dead Algerian freedom fighters. Nothing too explicit, but I thought it was worth a mention.

Steve likes to think that he’s a nice person, a _good_ person, so on principle, he tries not to really hate anyone. He hates conceptual figures like white supremacists and extreme right-wing politicians, but not people in his life that are real to him.

Except for his neighbor Mr. Bassett. He absolutely, without a doubt _hates_ Mr. Bassett. Steve has only lived in this building for a year, and yet he’s still managed to grow to hate the man in that short amount of time. However to Steve that does not count; Steve is pretty sure that everyone in his building hated Mr. Bassett. Hell, everyone who has ever met the crotchety old man probably has some level of dislike for him.

Mr. Bassett is born and bred Frenchman, having immigrated to the United States in the early seventies for his American sweetheart who passed away a bit over six years ago. Though that may sound sweet, don’t let it fool you. Mr. Bassett has since spent every second of his life miserably insulting and complaining about his life in America. He was snarky and did not have a polite bone in his body. He insisted on being called _Monsieur Bassett_ as he hated the English honorifics (which is why everyone continued to call him Mr. Bassett).

If it was just that, perhaps Steve could’ve probably tolerated the man. Steve can understand being patriotic when you’re far from home and he himself agrees with a few (a _minuscule_ amount) of Mr. Bassett’s critiques of the U.S. government.

However, Mr. Bassett is a bitter, bigoted old man, in every shape and form. He is racist, homophobic, xenophobic, basically any and every type of horrible a person could be. And _that_ Steve has absolutely no tolerance for.

Steve once had the misfortune of being stuck in an elevator with Mr. Bassett. At that point, Steve had been wary of the man but did not necessarily hate him. However, that quickly changed when Mr. Bassett proudly shared alarming stories about his French soldier father who was in Algeria in the 50s and his great-grandfather who he claims contributed one of the skulls of Algerian freedom fighters that were on display in Paris’s National Museum of Natural History. The old Frenchman declared how proud he was that his country kept them against the wishes of “those dirty camel jockeys” in order to preserve the history of “the great French empire.” It took everything in Steve not to punch the old man, and he really only didn’t because it’d be bad to be on the receiving end of a restraining order against his neighbor; he’d rather not have to move. Needless to say, that hour solidified Steve’s intense hatred for the man that continues to grow each day.

(A couple of months later, Steve personally shoved dozens of print-outs of the BBC article about France returning the skulls under Mr. Bassett’s door. He really hoped Mr. Bassett knew it was him.)

That is why Steve secretly takes immense pleasure in the currents events. Mr. Bassett seems to be stuck, _glued_ in place in front of apartment 5J with a cardboard box glued to his hands, hollering and complaining for the whole floor to see his plight.

Mr. Bassett lives in 5D, across from 5J and two doors down from Steve’s own 5A. Steve has seen the occupant of 5J around a handful of times, but he doesn’t know much about him (except the fact that he is extremely cute). Steve has, however, overheard the man of 5J complaining to the landlord about his packages going missing for months now. It seems that the man took matters into his own hands and that Mr. Bassett has fallen into his trap.

Steve walks over to the scene of the commotion. There isn’t exactly a crowd as maybe two or three other residents having come out to see what’s going on; everyone else is either out or has decided to ignore Mr. Bassett (which is probably a smart move). “Mr. Bassett, is there a reason you are trying to get the attention of the whole floor?” Steve asks with as straight a face as he can manage.

“Is there a reason? Is there a reason, he asks,” Mr. Bassett hollers, a slight French accent still present in his voice even after half a century of living on this side of the globe, “That insolent little brat of 5J has glued me to the floor. My hands are stuck on this infernal box. And no matter how much I yell, that bastard has not come out of hiding. If I ever see that tiny rascal ever again, he’s going to get it!”

Steve remains calm in the face of the old man yelling at him. “You know, I’ve heard him complaining about his packages going missing for months, even though they are supposed to be delivered to his door and he always gets picture updates of them at his door with every delivery. The landlord has said he is going to set up a camera system on all the floors, but it seems 5J couldn’t wait and set his own trap. You, Mr. Bassett, had no reason to come near 5J or pick up 5J’s package. You’ve been caught red-handed.”

The old Frenchman splutters, seemingly searching for some sort of retort. That’s when the elevator chimed and the resident of the apartment of topic came out. Steve immediately gets flustered at the sight of the gorgeous man. He may have a tiny crush, as much as anyone could have on someone they had never had a conversation with before. And it is a tiny crush, no matter what Bucky says.

“Oh nice,” the man says casually, “It worked.”

“You stupid child! Get me out of this immediately,” Mr. Bassett spits, “I will sue you for this.”

“I wouldn’t exactly say I’m stupid,” 5J’s resident replies easily, “ _You_ are the one who fell for _my_ trap. And I did create a formula for the glue on your hands that’s safe for human skin because I’m not that cruel as to give you permanent skin damage using real superglue, even if you have been stealing my packages, which _I_ could sue _you_ for.” 

Mr. Bassett opens his mouth, seemingly to snap back, but the man interrupts him before he can even begin.

“And,” he starts with exaggerated stress on the word as he pulls out a little eyedropper box, “I also made a solvent that can get rid of the glue. Unless you have anything else to say?”

Mr. Bassett wisely decides to stay silent. The occupant of 5J ( _I really need to learn his name_ , Steve despairs in his head) reaches over with the eyedropper unscrewed from the bottle and drops a bit of the liquid where Mr. Bassett’s hands and the package met. A few seconds later, the box drops from the old man’s grip, landing onto the floor with a muffled _thump_ as he shakes his hands out. “And my shoes?” The Frenchman demands impatiently.

The gorgeous man chuckles. “I actually used regular Gorilla Glue for that seeing as it wouldn’t touch your skin. There’s nothing I could do for you there. Your shoes are a lost cause, so why don’t you just slip out of them and go on your way.”

Mr. Bassett huffs, but ultimately wiggles out of his orthopedic tennis shoes and hobbles barefoot the few feet to his apartment, the door slamming closed behind him. 

Steve is in awe, of both the events that have just occurred and the man behind them. The other handful of people that gathered have also dispersed, leaving just Steve and 5J. 

Hopefully, Steve can finally have a conversation with the mesmerizing man.

The man looks at him curiously, probably wondering why Steve is still there. “So,” Steve starts, “you’re the one who superglued our neighbor’s shoes to the floor.” Steve cringes internally; of course he did, everyone and their mother just saw the display in the very corridor they stood in.

Thankfully, the man only seems amused at that. “Yup. How was his reaction before I came? I missed that part, obviously.”

Steve’s eyes twinkle with mischief as a grin spread across his face. “ _Spectacular._ I’m sure everyone is glad that someone finally knocked Mr. Bassett down a peg or two.”

“Glad to be of service. Can I tell you a secret though?”

Steve nods, hopefully not too eagerly. “What is it?”

“I put a tiny camera on my door to catch the culprit. I already knew it was Mr. Bassett. If it was anyone else, I wouldn’t have done this. But I knew Mr. Bassett would put up a fuss about my camera or something if I tried to deal with it with just him and the landlord and then nothing would actually come out of it. Mr. Bassett is the type to only respond to this kind of public humiliation.”

Steve raises his hands in mock-surrender. “Hey, I’m not complaining. No one on this floor, or even in this building, would blame you for the measures you took. It’s better than what I would’ve done.”

“And what would you have done?”

“Punched him. I came close once.”

The man chuckles again. “Yeah it’s probably better than that.”

“So,” Steve continues, desperately not wanting this conversation to end, “you ever figure out why Mr. Bassett was only stealing your packages.”

5J groans. “I’m pretty sure it was first because one of his French magazine subscriptions got put in my mailbox by mistake and then I tossed it by accident, so he took something of mine out of spite. Then he realized that he could sell the things I get for a pretty penny. I’m an engineering student, working on a PhD, so I get some expensive materials shipped to me."

Steve nods. “That explains the solvent-thing and the tiny camera. You must be pretty smart.”

The right side of the man’s lips quirks up. “I’m something of a genius, yeah. What about you?”

“Me?” Steve asks in surprise. “I’m getting a Masters in Art Education at MassArt. I’m Steve by the way. I’ve seen you around, but I’m pretty sure this is the first time we’ve ever spoken.”

“I’m Tony. I’ve seen you around to. It’s hard to forget a man with the shoulder-to-waist ratio of a Dorito.” Steve blushes at that, even though he’s not sure if Tony is flirting with him.

“Well, it was nice to finally talk to you, Steve, but I’ve got some deadlines to work on. Hopefully, we see each other again soon,” Tony sends what Steve is almost certain is a flirtatious smirk, “I would _love_ to run into you again.” With that, Tony enters his apartment, leaving Steve alone in the hallway, grinning.

_Tony._ Steve finally has a name. This is progress.

**Author's Note:**

> The title translates to "our neighbor is an asshole" because I am uncreative and bad at titles. Yes this was just an excuse to write about a shitty French person given France's recent (and historical) Islamophobia and xenophobia. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated. 
> 
> I am on Tumblr as [i-put-the-bi-in-hijabi](https://i-put-the-bi-in-hijabi.tumblr.com/)


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